


A Demons Heartache

by SonyB89



Series: Alexandria [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drama & Romance, Heartache, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyB89/pseuds/SonyB89
Summary: Crowley wakes up after having a terrifying nightmare he can't remember. Damn imagination and damn his human body. He calls Aziraphale, who comes to help





	1. Chapter 1

**A Demons Heartache - 1**

Crowley had something that demons usually lacked – he had an imagination.  
That was a good thing, made his job so much easier and much more fun. But with imagination came the possibility of imagining all kinds of things. Good and bad, however you defined those.

The demon was glad that he did not remember what he had dreamt.  
Remembering why he woke with a scream in the middle of the night, why the heart of his human body was hammering against his chest and why he was bathed in sweat would have only made him feel more miserable.  
He only knew that it had been a bad dream. Really, _really bad._  
Crowley tried to suck in as much air as possible into his burning lungs and suppress the panic that was trying to overcome him.  
He gritted his teeth and felt blood running down his chin. Apparently the dream had been so dreadful and scary, he had materialised his fangs in his sleep. They had dug into his bottom lip, drawing blood.  
_„Blessitall...“,_ he said and reached for his mobile. It was two o'clock in the morning.

On the day he and Aziraphale had made the „Agreement“ official, they had agreed upon a codeword. One single word that was only to be uttered when the other one needed assistance immediately. So far he had only used it once in the 14th century, while Aziraphale had used it twice, once juts over a decade ago and once in the 1600s.

It took a while, the phone kept ringing and ringing, until finally, after what seemed to be centuries, Aziraphale picked up the phone.  
„Hllo?“, he muttered.  
„ _ **Alexandria**_.“, Crowley said, his voice almost a beg.  
Aziraphale was suddenly wide awake.  
„I'm on my way.“

There was no need for further discussion or explanations. They had both agreed that if the other ever brought up Alexandria again, help was on it's way.

  
Crowley dropped the phone onto his bed and got up. He had to move.   
The adrenalin in his system needed him to be in motion.   
After a minute of walking around his bedroom in his silk shorts, not knowing where to put his hands, he heard the front door open being thrown open.  
Aziraphale must have burned up at least six or seven Miracles to get here so fast.

  
At this thought, Crowleys heart suddenly beat stronger for just the one beat.  
“What the hell is going on?”, he mumbled to himself.

“Crowley? _Crowley_ , where are you?”  
The demon didn't need to answer, as Aziraphale had found him, still running around in his bedroom like a caged tiger, just seconds later.  
“You're hurt!”, the angel cried, approaching him.  
“No, I'm not.”, Crowley said, evidently having forgotten that blood was dripping from his chin.

  
“My dear, what's wrong? You're shaking. And you're bleeding. What's – _Ow_!”  
Aziraphale had touched the demons shoulder, only to feel a burn, almost like acid, upon the touch. The angel took a step back, looking at his hand that was slowly mending itself.  
Crowley stared.  
“What was that?”, the demon asked, confused.  
“Emotion, my dear.”, Aziraphale answered. “Apparently you are in quite an emotional turmoil. So chaotic in fact, that your soul is reacting.”

Crowley didn't answer. Emotional turmoil, that described his current situation perfectly.  
He hissed, turned around, clenched his hands into his hair. From one moment to the next, his body started to shiver again, tears streaming uncontrollably from his snake-like eyes.  
“I don't know what's happening, angel. I-I was sleeping and suddenly... I don't know, I woke up like _this_!”  
Aziraphale ushered him towards the bed and signalled him to sit down.

“Alright, Crowley. Just take a deep breath. You know our protocol, I have to ask you a few questions now.”  
Crowley nodded, digging his hands into the mattress.

  
“What kind of emergency is this?”, Aziraphale asked  
“Non-combat emergency.”, the demon answered, remembering a rather nasty fight he had barely won when hell had decided to send a bunch of hellhounds after his angel.  
“Are you about to discorporate?”, Aziraphale wanted to know and Crowley shook his head. The angel sighed in relief.  
After their agreement, Crowley had been the first to use their emergency codeword. The 14th century had been awful for both of them, but Crowley could have been discorporated had Aziraphale not stepped in.  
The demon once again shook his head.

“I'm not sick. At least I don't think so. Sorry for the emergency call... I might have overreacted.”  
Aziraphale got onto his knees in front of Crowley searching for the demons eyes.

  
“My dear, you look absolutely dreadful. I'm glad you called, even though you're not in danger. And something is definitely wrong.”  
Crowley slowly calmed down. His body went back to normal, he stopped his almost-hyperventilating. His violent shivers stopped to be replaced by shudders.  
Aziraphale tried touching him again; a hand on the shoulder. Nothing happened.  
“You still feel hot but I think the worst is over.”

With a quick 'I'll be right back, dear,' the angel left Crowley alone and returned with a wash basin and a cloth.  
“You could have miracled those into being...”, Crowley said as the angel slowly dabbed the cloth into the water to wipe away the blood from the demons face. He was too exhausted to even try and fight him.  
“No can do, I'm afraid.”, Aziraphale said. “I used up quite a few miracles to get here so fast. I'll have to refrain from magic for a while."  
“Sorry”, the demon mumbled.  
“Don't be.”  
Aziraphale continued cleaning Crowleys face, carefully trying not to touch the still bleeding lips of the demon.

“Now, dear. Get up and sit on the chair over there. Where do you keep your linens?”  
Crowley raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  
“I am not tucking you back into these linens. They're drenched.”

  
Crowley got up and suddenly, there it was again. A strike to the heart.  
He groaned, lifting his hand and putting it on his chest.  
“What is it? What's wrong?”

  
Aziraphale, sheets and linens abandoned, decided to guide Crowley into the living room and set him down on the couch. Something told him that a nice cup of tea was needed. And possibly physical mending of the demons heart.  
“I don't know. It's been this way since I woke up. It's random.”, Crowley mumbled. The adrenalin had worn off, he felt incredibly tired.  
_Curse these human bodies_ , he thought.

Crowley didn't know if Aziraphale had abandoned his 'no more miracles today' rule, or if he had really been gone to make tea – but there was suddenly a cup of Earl Gray in his hands. He felt the sofa dip as the angel sat beside him.  
“Why don't you explain to me how you feel? Maybe I can figure out what's wrong.”  
“I.. Well, I was sleeping and apparently I had a bad dream. A _very_ bad dream.”, Crowley mumbled.  
Normally he would drown anything in whisky or some other alcoholic beverage, but at this moment he felt quite English, the tea in his hands the only lifeline he had.  
“And you don't remember what your dream was about?”, Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head. “It must have been something scary for me too get out my fangs... I think I screamed...”  
Aziraphale knew fully well that in a few days Crowley would deny ever having admitted that, but he didn't care. He hated seeing the demon like this.  
“And now?”  
“It's... I don't know. It's as if someone rammed his hand into my chest, and squeezed my heart. It's almost like it's...”  
“Aching?”, Aziraphale suggested.  
“For lack of a better word, yes.”

The angel grabbed Crowleys teacup and set it aside.  
“Do you want me to check?”  
“Check? You mean..?”  
“I'll just have a quick look. To see if your heart is fine.”, Aziraphale assured him.

For a demon, the prospect of having an angel have a glimpse at his body and soul was terrifying, even if you knew him for six millenia.  
But he hated this feeling. So he nodded, bracing himself.

He felt Aziraphales cool fingers on his skin, directly above his heart. The angel closed his eyes and suddenly, Crowley could feel a burning sensation ripping through his body, a stench of holiness filled his nostrils.  
It was over in a flash and he thought he had had it rough.

He hadn't counted on Aziraphale crying.  
“I-I'm sorry, my dear. Transmission. I seem to have caught some of your heartache.”  
Crowley scowled.  
“What exactly do you mean, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, but it was kind of a sad smile. He wiped his cheeks.

  
“There's nothing wrong with your body, dear. But I'm afraid you're suffering from something else.”  
“I don't like where this is going, angel. Spit it out.”,  
Crowley growled, suddenly impatient.

  
“You're suffering from heartache, Crowley. And that's a side effect of being in love.”

  
He shouldn't have asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2

**A Demons Heartache 2**

 

There were some things in his flat, Crowley had to admit, that were definitely inventions from heaven. The expensive showerhead with sixteen different settings that he'd had installed a year ago was one of them.

It was heavenly.

His shower was not a small tiled cubicle, but a full scale room where he could spread his wings to wash them if he so pleased.

But right now it was enough to stand in the middle of the room, naked, and let the warm water wash over his body to wash away the sweat from the bad dream.

The water was raining down on the demon and he remembered the conversation from earlier. Or rather the conversation that Aziraphale had not wanted them to have right away.

“We can talk about this later.”, he had said.

“I'll tell you what, dear. You'll go and have a nice, long, relaxing shower while I fix your bed and then I'll make you a snack. You need nutrition and then you need some rest.”

The angel had all but shoved him into his shower and slammed the door shut.

He must have been in the shower quite some time, relaxing, slowly finding his way back into his body.

A knock on the door interrupted him.

“Crowley, dear. Are you alright? I put some clothes outside for you to wear.”

“'m fine. I'll be out in a minute.”

With a wave of his hand the water suddenly stopped. Crowley didn't bother to towel himself off properly and just slung the towel around his hips while grabbing another to dry his hair.

“Oh, I am not wearing those.”, he mumbled and ignored the tartan pyjamas the angel had placed near the door.

Naked but for his towels, Crowley followed a rather delicious smell into the kitchen.

The sight in front of him made his heart skip another beat, which was beginning to be a quite annoying sensation.

Aziraphale was wearing an apron (which he was sure he had never bought for himself), apparently making a hearty breakfast for the both of them (with groceries he had certainly never bought).

“Are you feeling be- Crowley! You'll catch your death if you run around soaking wet!”

The angel abandoned the groceries and came closer. Crowley noticed that his companion kept his eyes firmly at chest height.

As the demon was a tad bit taller than the angel, Aziraphale had to stand on his toes to grab the towel and dry the demons hair. It felt nice.

“Seriously, your lot invented colds, runny noses and coughs. You have to take care of yourself.”

Crowley didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind. The thought that had come to him in the shower.

“It's your fault.”

“What is, dear?”

“The whole being in love thing. I'm sure it's your fault.”

Aziraphale stopped, taking a step back and returned to the kitchen.

“Why do you think it's my fault, Crowley?”, he asked.

“Well, you're an angel. I've been around you for sixthousand years. It's like an infection. I've been around you too long. It's your fault.”

Aziraphale chuckled, but somehow it sounded wrong. It almost sounded a bit disappointed.

“I hate to break it to you, dear, but we're of the same stock. The ability to love is something that angels and demons both have.”

“B-But I don't do _love_. I'm a demon! I do lust, I do temptation, I do passion – not... _love_.”

“Stop saying it like it's a disease, dear.”

“But it is!”

Crowley let himself fall onto one of his chairs, leaned back and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hand with a groan.

“This is _terrible_... How do you angels bear it? It feels like someone is squeezing my heart over and over again... How is this heavenly?”

“It gets easier, dear.”

Detecting a certain tone in Aziraphales voice, Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Is there something you're not telling me, angel?”

Aziraphale didn't answer. Instead he put a plate of delicious looking blueberry pancakes and a glass of milk in front of the demon before getting rid of his apron and sitting down opposite him.

“Are you really sure it's love?”, Crowley whined.

The angel nodded.

“I'm pretty sure.”

“How can you be? When was the last time you've been in love?”

Aziraphale once again refused to answer and concentrated on his pancakes.

“Right, can you at least tell me how to deal with this shit?”

“Crowley! Don't say that... Being in love is the most wonderful thing in the world.”

The demon doubted that, and seeing Aziraphales face, he was sure that the angel wasn't so very fond of the emotion either.

“That's not what your face says, angel.”

“Well... Love is beautiful. But if it's unrequited, it can hurt.”

Crowley didn't say another thing. Suddenly, thinking about Aziraphale being in love with anyone felt really... wrong.

 

“So, who is the lucky girl? Do I know her?”

The demon blinked in confusion, mid bite.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You're in love, dear. That we have established beyond a doubt. So, who is she? Or is it a man?”

Crowley suddenly realised that a big puzzle piece was missing. He trusted the angel. If he said he had caught a serious love bug, then it was true. But he hadn't thought about who he was in love with. The emotion was so new to him, so strange...

“I have no idea.”, he finally said, honestly. “I really can't think of anybody. Is that normal?”

Aziraphale stared at him.

“No dear, that's not normal at all.”

“So how do I find out? I can't do this angel. I need to figure out how to make this stupid – sorry – how to make this go away!”

The angel had finished his pancakes.

“In my case...”, he started. “I've noticed that the first thing I think about in the morning is him. And the last thing I think about when I go to sleep is him.”

So he had been right. Aziraphale was suffering from the same rotten disease. And he had for quite some time.

“I- He... Every time I see him the world is a bit brighter. I find myself wanting him to be happy. I am sad when he is sad. He doesn't know, of course, and I could never tell him...”

Crowley stood up. Sudden realisations were a bitch.

“Huh...”

“What is it?”

“I think I know who I'm in love with.”

“D-Do you? Well, that's wonderful! You have to tell her!”, Aziraphale said, but once again his voice betrayed him.

 

“Are you sure? If I tell _him_ , the whole thing could spectacularly backfire...”

Aziraphales smile was so innocent, so real and so bright – but at the same time so sad that the demons heartache increased tenfold.

“Crowley, don't make the same mistake I made. I've been a coward for so long now, I've missed my chance. But you only just realised... You may be a demon, but I can't imagine anybody who is more worthy of happiness than you are.”

Aziraphale didn't realise that he was crying again, Crowley was sure of it.

He approached the angel, decided to sit down onto the floor and look up at him.

“You're so much more worthy, Aziraphale.”, he said, smiling, reaching out to wipe the angles tears away. They tingled a little upon touching them.

“Thank you, dear. That's lovely of you to say.”, he mumbled.

 

“But enough of me. I came here to help you!”

Aziraphale stood up, picking Crowley upright with him, dragging the demon back to his bedroom.

“It's still only five-thirty, dear. You should get some more sleep. I've changed the sheets for you.”

 

Crowley had to suppress a groan of frustration.

The last two hours had carried way too many revelations for him, and they were raining down on him like a thunderstorm.

How could he have not realised sooner?

“Good idea...”, he mumbled, but stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“Just one more thing, angel.”

“Yes, dear?”

“What do you think I should do? How does this whole confessing your love thing work?”

 

Crowley sat down onto the mattress, still only clad in his towel and patted the space next to him for the Angel to sit.

Aziraphale fought with himself, the demon could see it. He was deciding whether to flee the scene or help his friend. But in the end, the angelic side won.

“There is more than one way. You could talk to him, tell him how you feel.”

“You know I'm not big on words, angel. Is there a faster way? More direct?”

 

Crowley knew, of course. But he had to assemble every bit of courage he could muster.

“Well, actions speak louder than words, they say. I've always been too afraid to jump in, but a kiss usually does the trick.”

A kiss. Swift and simple. A message that could not possibly be misinterpreted, right?

 

And because Crowley was not a demon of many words, he decided on the action.

Before his panic-stricken heart could tell him otherwise, Crowley made the leap and closed the distance between him and the angel, his lips landing on his target.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the "Alexandria" series.  
> ALEXANDRIA is the emergency codeword that Crowley and Aziraphale use whenever they are in life and death situations.


End file.
